Hetalia Hunger Games
by hetawholockvengerstuck
Summary: Lovina has to save her sister. Ludwig is an outcast in his district. Erik may never see his brother again. Stories like these are common, but something about this year makes it a little different. Hunger Games AU
1. Chapter 1

**It's physically impossible for me to work on one project at a time. So to make sure I'm not going to get violently ill, I have started yet another series—and it won't be the last!**

**There will be genderbending. There will be selfcest (although they won't be related). There will be creative liberty taken in regard to events and characters. But this is still…**

**HUNGER GAMES HETALIA! (And may the odds be ever in your pasta.)**

**Chapter 1-Introduction**

**District 12**

**Lovina Vargas POV**

Stabbing pain wakes me from my slumber. I shoot up in bed, ready to fight to the death—

Nobody is there, but my right cheek is sore where I had dug my fingernails into it, during a particularly horrible dream. I shudder. _And it could still come true…_

I glance over at Feliciana, still sound asleep. My little sister has just turned twelve, making this her first year for the reaping. It's terrifying, knowing that from now on, every year until Feliciana turned eighteen, I run the risk of losing her.

Light begins to filter in through the dusty windows of our small wooden house. My mother is still asleep, and won't be up for a while. It's the perfect time to go hunting.

Quietly, I climb out of bed and get dressed, pulling my boots on over my pants. I avoid the creaky board in the middle of our floor in a vain attempt at not waking my sister; as usual, the minute I touch the doorknob, she seems to know I am leaving.

"Lovina?"

I turn back around. "Go back to sleep, Feli. I'll be back soon."

"Lovi, where are you going?" She's still half-asleep, or else she would know where I was going.

"I'm going to get food, idiot. Like always." I call her idiot, but I love my sister.

Feliciana nods sleepily. "Be careful…" And she closes her eyes and goes back to sleep. I open the door and grab the cheese that Feliciana has left out for me. With the cheese hidden under my thin coat, I leave the house, followed closely by my sister's cat, Buttercup. It scratches at my legs, no doubt smelling the cheese.

I glare at it, which for most creatures is enough to cause them to avert their eyes. Buttercup, unfortunately, is not like most creatures.

"I'll still cook you," I threaten, giving the cat a little kick and walking away from the yowl of indignation.

Walking through District 12, you would wonder how a cat was still alive. Many people have long ago eaten their pets to keep from starving. Buttercup had been sick when my sister found her, and although I wanted to kill the thing—the last thing I needed was another mouth to feed—Feliciana had cried and insisted that we keep the ugly thing. In the end, I had no choice but to cave in. Besides, the cat has its uses: we have far fewer rat problems, and occasionally Buttercup brings his kills to Feliciana. Those were the times we had sparrow or mouse for dinner.

I pass many wooden shacks, seeing a few early risers peeking through their windows at me. I walk until I come to the large fence that separates District 12 from the forest beyond. The fence is supposed to be humming with electricity, but electricity is in short supply out here in District 12, and the fence is no exception. I'm easily able to slide under it via a hole I had dug for just this purpose. I continue walking, but I pick up the pace. If I'm seen out here by a Peacekeeper, I am bound to be in trouble.

After a few minutes of walking, I stop to fetch my bow from under a log. It's well-made, a gift from my father, and illegal. Citizens aren't supposed to have weapons. Walking a little farther, I pull a quiver of arrows out of its well-concealed hiding place in the fork of a tree. With my quiver on my back and an arrow in my bow, I stalk forward, ears and eyes alert for any movement.

It's not long before a deer comes into view. It's large enough to feed my family for months. I line up my arrow with its head, aiming for the eyes—and it runs away.

Frowning, I pick up some dead leaves and crinkle them. I'm pretty sure the doe hadn't seen me, so…ah, of course. The wind is blowing towards the deer, giving it my scent. The crumpled leaf bits tell me that much.

I make a wide arc through the forest and come out upwind of the deer, which is grazing peacefully. It is still alert. I raise my bow again, pull the arrow…

Just as I let go, I hear a rustling noise behind me. In my hurry to turn around, I lose control of the arrow and miss the doe by at least five feet. There goes my catch.

I nock another arrow and aim it carefully at the bushes from whence the noise has come. The rustling occurs again. I squint, pulling the arrow back—

"Don't shoot! It's just me!"

I relax, lowering the bow. "Antonio, you stupid bastard! What if I had shot you?"

Antonio only laughs, stepping out of the bushes. He holds a small pebble in one hand.

"Want me to scare some game for you, Lovi?" he asks, a twinkle in his dark eyes. He throws his pebble into another bush. Immediately a flock of birds takes flight. I quickly shoot a couple arrows, taking down two birds.

"As usual, right through the eye." Antonio goes to retrieve my kills. He will take one home for his family; I will most likely sell mine and see if I can get more food for mine. Antonio may have a bigger family, but I know how to make a good bargain.

Antonio is my hunting partner and best friend. He has bright green eyes that are always full of expression, tanned skin, and mussy brown hair. He always seems to have a smile on his face, a rare thing for someone living in District 12. He's two years older than me, making him 18. His last year to participate in the reaping.

We hunt and gather roots and fruit a little longer before reaching a clearing that gives a beautiful view of the forest. Sitting among the dandelions, I toss a blueberry at Antonio. He catches it. "Guess what, Lovi? I killed this before you got here." He pulls a loaf of bread from his pocket.

Feigning fury, I snatch the bread from his hands. "You bastard, you waited until now to tell me this?" I break the bread in two, taking a waft. "And it's still warm…"

Antonio laughs. "Hey, let me have some!"

I smile. "Well, my sister gave us something to go with this mysterious catch of yours." And I show him the cheese.

"Ah, man! I was hoping it would be a tomato," Antonio jokes. He slices off a chunk of creamy goat cheese with his hunting knife and spreads it on a chunk of bread. "Your sister makes the best cheese in District 12, you know that?"

I smirk. "Yeah, but who gets the best squirrels?"

Antonio rolls his eyes. Then his mood becomes more serious. "This is Feli's first reaping, isn't it? Is she okay?"

"She's handling it pretty well. The stupid brat probably doesn't even realize it's reaping day," I say. I pick a berry from the pile and flick it up into the air. "Happy Hunger Games!" I say, imitating Effie Trinket, the woman from the Capitol who is District 12's escort. "And may the odds…"

Antonio catches the blueberry in his mouth and finishes, "…be ever in your favor!" He is able to quite accurately imitate the Capitol accent. But Antonio goes quiet again.

"Hey, Lovi? Have you ever thought about running away? We could do it, you know, live off stuff in the wild, set up a new home."

I shoot him a glance. Antonio often complains about life in District 12, but I have never heard this train of thought. "We would have to bring Feli and my mother, and your mother, and your brothers and sisters. I know my family would never be able to make it out here."

"I guess…" Antonio says. "It's just…why should we have to go through this stupid reaping every year?"

Of course, we both know the answer to that. Seventy-four years ago, the Districts revolted against the Capitol, and failed. District 13 has been reduced to rubble and the other twelve have been forced to participate in the Hunger Games ever since.

And the odds are not in our favor. Feliciana has only one entry, but Antonio has forty-eight entries because of the tesserae. I have about twenty or so. More likely than not, Antonio will be chosen. If he isn't, then after today he will be free to plan his future. I still have two more years.

"I'm never having kids," I say.

"I might," Antonio says. "If I didn't live here."

"But you do," I point out.

"Just forget it," he says irritably.

Everything about this conversation is wrong. That bastard Antonio, how could he even think I would leave Feliciana? And why is he talking about kids? If he wants kids, he can pick a bride. Any girl in District 12 would love to have him.

We sit in silence for a while, eating berries, bread, and cheese, before grabbing our kills and heading back to the town, and the Hob.

/

While at a stall, buying some cheese, I see the pin. Bright gold in color, with what looks like a woodpecker in the middle. I pick it up out of curiosity, watching the glint off the metal.

"It's a mockingjay," says the woman behind the stall. I know what a mockingjay is, of course. There are many of the birds still living in the forest surrounding District 12.

A sudden inspiration takes hold of me. "How much?" I ask.

The woman looks at me and says, "You take it. I have no use for it."

"Thank you," I say, smiling. I slip the pin into my bag and set off for home, my trading done.

Upon my arrival home, I see Feliciana getting dressed in her light blue reaping outfit. My mother is putting her hair in two braids, and I can see from where I'm standing that Feliciana's ducktails are hanging out.

I dump my purchases and what is left of my game on the table. "Feli, tuck in your tails. You look stupid."

Feliciana only smiles and does as I've told her to do. My mother finishes with Feliciana's hair and turns to me. "There's an outfit for you in your room, honey. You can get changed before lunch."

I huff. Of course, my mother is worried about my appearance.

My mother has laid out one of her old dresses, a beautiful green one with a white belt around the middle. It looks ridiculously expensive, and I know it must be from before my mother married my father. I look back at my mother, who is standing in the doorway.

"Go on, see if it fits."

I do so, and the dress fits me perfectly. Instead of thanking my mother, I simply give her a nod.

For lunch we have some strawberries, sparrow, and bread. It's pretty good, considering the bread is stale and some of the strawberries are a little on the ripe side. Time seems to fly, and before I know it, the time has come for us to join the rest of the town in the square. Before we leave, I kneel down to pin the mockingjay onto Feliciana's collar.

"This is for you. As long as you wear it, nothing bad will happen to you. Most likely they won't pick you, but it can't hurt to have some extra luck. And tuck your tails in, moron."

Feliciana smiles and tucks her tails in.

/

As usual, when we get to the square, the children are herded into groups by age and gender. Looking up, I can see the stage that has been erected in front of the Justice Building. It holds three chairs, a podium, and the glass balls holding the names of the children. One chair holds the mayor, another Effie Trinket, decked out in magenta from head to toe—literally. Her white hair has pink flowers in it, and her lips are dyed a bright pink.

Just as the cameras that are trained on the Square start rolling, and Effie is about to make her speech, District 12's only living victor, Sadiq Annan, comes stumbling onto the stage and attempts to sit in his chair, but succeeds only in tripping over it and into Effie's now-vacant chair. He's drunk. Very. And, as usual, his face is hidden behind a stupid white mask.

Effie keeps her smile plastered on her face and says, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" But she's obviously hoping this will be her last year in this district. Right now, because of Sadiq, District 12 is the laughingstock of Panem.

It's time for the drawing. Effie trots to the right, saying, "Ladies first!" and stops at the glass ball containing the girls' names. She fishes around inside and pulls out a slip of paper. She crosses back to the podium and reads the name off the paper. And it's not me.

It's Feliciana Vargas.

**Lovina=Fem! South Italy**

**Feliciana=Fem! Italy**

**Sadiq=Turkey**

**Antonio=Spain**


	2. Chapter 2

**I promise to deviate from the book soon. And I feel like I'm not writing Lovina well enough…**

**So here is Chapter 2 of Hetalia Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor! **

**I warn you that there is some explicit language in here. And a sneaky Germania reference. Can you figure out who? Hint: he has a strange-sounding name. **

**Chapter 2**

I am positively stunned, unable to draw breath.

There must have been some mistake. Feliciana was one fucking slip among thousands! The odds had been entirely in her favor. But it hadn't mattered.

I can hear murmurs of discomfort, because a twelve-year-old has been picked. And I see Feliciana, shaking, tucking in her ducktails, leaving the crowd. It's the ducktails that brings me back to myself.

"Feli!" I scream, lunging. Guards appear out of nowhere, trying to restrain me. I can hear Feliciana yelling for me, can see the guards pulling her to the front of the Square. "Feli! Feli, no!"

But the guards are forcing me back, separating me from the only thing I really love: my sister. I break free for a moment.

"I volunteer! I volunteer!" I scream, and the guards stop blocking my way. Everything has gone still. There is silence.

"Excellent!" Effie Trinket says. "Come up here, darling!"

In the background, I can hear Feliciana screaming hysterically. "No, Lovi! You can't go!"

I see Antonio lifting Feliciana off the ground. "Go on, Lovina." I can tell he's fighting to keep his voice steady. He carries Feliciana off to my mother, and I walk the distance to the stage. Effie leans over as I near the top, precariously balancing on her heels, and ushers me to the front of the stage.

"Well, bravo!" she gushes, smiling her magenta smile. "What's your name?"

"Lovina Vargas," I mumble.

"Well, I bet my buttons that was your sister!"

"Yes."

Effie is still beaming. "Everyone, let's hear a big round of applause for District 12's first volunteer!"

Not one person claps. Then something unexpected happens. At least, I'm not expecting it because I'm pretty sure no one in District 12, aside from my family and Antonio, really gives a damn about me. Gradually, everyone in the Square touches their three middle fingers to their lips and holds it out to me. This is a rarely used gesture in our district, and it means thanks, good-bye, admiration for someone you love.

I feel the tears coming, and mentally swear at myself for being a weakling. Fortunately, at that moment Sadiq decides to stumble up and throw an arm around my shoulder. "Look at her. Look at this one! I like her!" His mask is slipping a little. "Lots of character!" He releases me and starts going towards the front of the stage. "More than you! More than you!" And now he's pointing to the cameras, clearly addressing the Capitol.

Then he falls right off the edge of the stage and into the waiting crowd, knocking himself unconscious and, somehow, righting his mask. His red hat, thought, goes skittering away, and a little boy runs off to retrieve it. I see Antonio rejoin the mass of boys his age, trying hard to suppress a snicker.

Sadiq is whisked away on a stretcher, and Effie is trying to get the show back under control. Her hair must be a wig, because it lists severely to the right. "Now, it's time to choose our boy tribute!" She grabs the first slip she encounters, and reads the name clearly. "Antonio Fernandez Carriedo."

Oh, God, no. Not Antonio. The odds are not in my favor today. Everyone I care about is in danger today, and while I was able to save Feliciana, there is no way in hell to save Antonio.

I watch as Antonio makes his way to the stage, and he seems shaken, something that I have never seen him look before, not even when his father died alongside my own in the mine explosion. He doesn't look at me as he stands next to Effie on the other side of the podium. No volunteers step forward, even though I know that many of the girls in District 12 have a crush on Antonio, and would surely want someone to take his place.

_Why him?_ I think. _Why does it have to be Antonio?_

While the mayor reads the Treaty of Treason, an old memory comes unbidden to my head. It was shortly after the mine accident, and my mother was a wreck. She barely moved, never responded to anything we said, only stirring to eat a little or use the bathroom. Feliciana and I were slowly starving to death, and my mother did nothing about it. That's about the time I began hunting.

My father had shown me how to use a bow, and had made one for me himself. But I was still learning, and often I missed my target completely. One day, after almost a week without a catch, I collapsed in the woods. That could easily have been the end of me. Lucky for me, Antonio had been hunting, too, and far more successfully. When he found me, he shared his catch with me, and agreed to help me improve my hunting skills and feed my family, as long as when I was able, I contributed to feeding his much larger family. I was so hungry I readily agreed, but Antonio never asked me to make good on my promise, always letting me have the bigger portions of out spoils. So I still felt like I owed him something, and I hate owing people.

The mayor finishes the reading, and I am jolted out of my own head by the loudspeakers blaring the anthem of Panem. And it finally hits home that I am going to be competing against Antonio in the Hunger Games. I can only hope that one of the other tributes will kill him. It's the only way to survive. I wonder if Antonio is thinking the same thing, and if he is already distancing himself from me. Could our partnership be dissolved so easily? Traitorous bastard.

When the anthem ends, we are herded into separate rooms in the Justice Building and kept there by guards. This is when the tributes are allowed to say their goodbyes. My mother and Feliciana come first.

Feli launches herself into my arms and squeezes. My mother sits on one of the velvet couches and waits.

Instead of saying goodbye to Feli, I instruct her. She is not to take any tessarae, she is to sell her goat milk and cheese and carry on with mother in the apothecary/doctor business. Without Antonio to bring my family game, they will be hard-pressed to make a living, but they might be able to trade at the Hob, and perhaps the people there will be kind.

Then I turn to my mother. "You can't disappear again, mother. You can't fucking disappear."

She nods. "I know. I couldn't help it last time…"

"Well, you have to goddamn help it this time, or Feli isn't going to make it. I'm not here to provide for you anymore, you got it? Take care of her!"

"Lovi, you have to try to win." Feliciana is sobbing. She tries to dry her tears. "Promise me you'll try to win?"

I nod. "There's no way in hell that I'm gonna lose this."

Feliciana unpins the mockingjay from her outfit and hands it to me. "For luck."

I smile and thank her, putting the pin on. I can't help but think that the pin might not be so lucky, because Feli was called up while wearing it, but it would be better for me to have bad luck then Feliciana.

And surely, Feliciana knows I can't win. There are the trained tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4, and so many other children who are stronger and faster than me. But on the offchance that Feli really thinks I can win, well, I won't spoil her stupid optimism.

The guard comes in to pull my family out of the room, and Feli hangs on to my neck. I have to unclasp her fingers and push her out the door.

Next comes the baker, Alaric. He was a good friend of my father's, but I still can't figure out why he's here.

He clears his throat. "I'll make sure you're family has enough to eat. I owe that much to Romulus." And I understand what he's referring to. On the day of the accident, Alaric should have been in the mines with my father, but a horrible bout of influenza kept him home. After the accident, Alaric inherited his brother's bakery and has avoided the mines ever since. There's no reason why this guy should blame himself, but he's goddamn guilty about it.

The Peacekeepers take him away, and then I'm shuttled to the train station. Reporters are everywhere. I make sure to flip a couple of them off while I'm pushed into the train. Apparently Antonio got here before me.

When the train starts, I'm surprised at the speed. Having never traveled in anything faster than a cart, this train is an anomaly to me. It is clear that in less than a day I will be in the Capitol. During that time, the other districts will have had their Reapings, which are staggered throughout the day so the heartless people in the Capitol can watch them all live.

The train is quite fancy, needlessly so. I see the television in my room and ponder whether or not to watch a couple of reapings, but decide against it. There will be reruns later tonight.

**District 10**

**Toris Laurinitis**

I sit in the train to the Capitol across from my fellow tribute and ponder how it came to this. Of course, I knew I might be picked. I had at least 25 slips in the ball. But what really confuses me is my fellow tribute. I'm the male tribute. The person across from me is also male.

If you didn't know Feliks, you might assume he was a girl. Perhaps that's why the Peacekeepers allowed him to volunteer for the little girl they called. It might also have something to do with the fact that Feliks older sister, Felka, is a victor. She's full of spunk and acts more like a boy than her younger brother, and she often offends Peacekeepers. If they think sending Feliks to the Hunger Games is a good form of revenge, they're wrong. Surely she could care less.

Felka is 19 now, a year older than Feliks and I. I grew up next door to the Łukasiewicz family, and yet I'm still not used to the strange children.

"OMG, Liet, this is like, so exciting!" Feliks has a strange habit of giving random nicknames to people he takes a liking to, and apparently, he has decided that Liet fits me. "The Capitol is like, so glamourous! I'm just going to love it!"

I heave a heavy sigh. "Feliks, we're not going to enjoy the riches of the Capitol. We're going to be stuck in an arena with a bunch of other kids in a fight to the death. That means dirt. Sweat. Blood. No clean clothes."

Feliks' eyes grow wide. "OMG, no way! I totally cannot go on without clean clothes! Like, what are they thinking?"

It occurs to me that Feliks is one of two things: stupid enough to tune out the whole point of the Hunger Games in his eternal quest for 'fabulous', or a good enough actor to convince me that he didn't know what he was getting into. For his sake, I hope it's the latter.

To be honest, Feliks gives me a headache. His constant chatter should be endearing, since he rarely talks to strangers, but he never seems to have anything worthwhile to say, and the way he talks is excruciating. It's bad enough that I have to go into the arena with a partner that I know; why does my partner have to be someone who won't force me to fight for my life?

Then again, Feliks is lazy. Most likely he's going to depend on me to save him. Which is stupid, because tributes never work together. And I'm not going to be the one to break the trend.

**District 7**

**Elizaveta Héderváry**

I stand next to Roderich Edelstein, and I'm hoping beyond hope that he won't be called. It may seem stupid, but it's all I want.

I've had a crush on Roderich for years, and now he's finally become my boyfriend. He still doesn't say much to me, but I know that after a while he'll come around.

Our escort reaches into the girls' ball. I'm so busy hoping that Roderich won't be called that I don't hear the name. Only when it is repeated five times does it finally register.

"Elizaveta Héderváry?"

It's me. I'm the female tribute for District 7.

It's a shock, but I'm nothing if not strong. I look at Roderich, trying to gauge his reaction. I see no pain, no sadness. Surely it is just Roderich being stoic. But then he pushes me towards the stage.

Roderich is the son of a Peacekeeper, so naturally he would want to make sure his girlfriend follows the rules. And I have as good a chance as any, if not more, at winning the Hunger Games. Still, it hurts a bit.

I walk proudly up to the podium. I watch as the escort roots around in the boys' ball and pulls out a slip of paper. She reads it out in a clear voice:

"Gilbert Beilschmidt!"

There are a few good-hearted bro hugs over in the corner of the Square, and then Gilbert Beilschmidt emerges from the crowd, a cocky grin on his face.

Crap. Not him.

Because I remember him. When I was younger, I lost my mother, and my father became a political prisoner. I was all alone, and was barely getting by on the animals I was able to snare.

One day, I was sick of eating nothing but meat. I was hungry for fruit, which I hadn't had since my father was taken away. When I saw some blueberries, I grabbed as many as I could and stuffed them in my mouth.

I walked back into town, marginally satisfied. I was passing the Justice Building when my vision blurred and my stomach turned. I began to vomit blood. I was crying uncontrollably, realizing too late that the berries had not been blueberries, but I was too weak to move or call for help. I passed out right where the podium is now standing.

When I came to, there was a bucket of red vomit in the corner of the room. I was lying in a bed, and a silver-haired, red-eyed boy was staring at me. He had a little yellow bird in his hair. And when he saw that I was okay, he had the same cocky grin that he now wears as he climbs the steps to the stage.

Damn fate. It gave me what I wanted at the price of my life and pride.

**District 5**

**Erik Steillson**

There are so few girls of Reaping age in District 5 that the Peacekeepers made it a habit to put all the names in one big bowl and pull any random slip. Always it was either a boy and girl or two boys, never two girls. Great for the girls, not so good for the boys.

It doubles the risk of losing my brother Lukas. But there's no way I'm saying that out loud.

On my right, Mathias Køhler is bouncing on the balls of his feet. He gets unnaturally excited on Reaping Days, as if he's taking in all the negative tension around us and converting it into pure energy. I swear he looks like he could run a 2-minute mile.

Our escort is also our Head Peacekeeper, and he reaches into the bowl and pulls out two slips of paper at the same time. It was probably an accident; it might also be that the Reapings are behind schedule, and District 5 has to rush the ceremony.

"Erik Steillson and Mathias Køhler!"

To my left, I feel Lukas stiffen. This is probably his worst unspoken nightmare: his best friend and his little brother being sent to the Hunger Games. And to make matters worse, I probably have no chance of winning at all. Unless…

But I can't afford to think like that. If anyone is going to win glory for District 5, it's going to be Mathias. And up until now I would have thought that Lukas would want me to win, but now I'm not so sure.

I'm not sure about anything.

Mathias cuts the tension with a whoop of joy. I glance suspiciously at him. Why is he so glad to be a tribute? And then I realize: his name has been called. He's 17. At least now he knows he won't have to guess when his name will be called, if he'll be dead. Now he knows for sure what his fate is.

But I'm just 15. I'm not ready to die. I haven't even had my first crush yet.

Lukas turns to me. "Will you please call me big brother, one last time?" He keeps pushing that. And despite what I know, despite the chances that I'll never see him again, I find myself responding in the usual way:

"Never."

I know it hurts Lukas, but it's a reflex. Then Mathias throws an arm around my neck and drags me to the Justice Building. Whatever I felt, it's too late now.

**District 3**

**Ludwig**

The crowd mills about as if it's market day. I stand in the middle of the Square, alone. No one wants to get near me. I'm used to it by now; no one wants to approach a 15-year-old boy they think killed his dad.

He went missing years ago. I never killed anyone.

I feel a tug on my coat sleeve and turn to see Louise. She's my only friend, the only person in District 3 who isn't afraid of me. She seems worried, but I don't know why. Perhaps she is worried for me.

She doesn't know it, but I have gone out of my way to make sure that she stays out of the Reaping. I've been bribing the officials for years, threatening at times. I don't want to lose the only person who cares about me.

I put a hand on her arm. "What's the matter, Louise? Is everything okay at home?"

She nods. "It's just…something feels wrong, Ludwig. I can't explain it, but I know something isn't right."

The escort begins to speak, and the milling stops. There is still a wide circle around Louise and me.

"Our male tribute will be Tino Väinämöinen!"

I know that boy. He's 17. And he might be strong, but he will never make it in the arena.

But the boy who joins the escort is not Tino. It's 18-year-old Berwald Oxenstierna, the one who everyone feels uneasy around. It's a well-known fact that he is gay, and some people believed he might become a political prisoner for it. It should have been expected that he would volunteer to take Tino's place.

It's something of a surprise when Tino starts yelling, "No! I'll do it! I'll go to the Hunger Games!"

But Berwald is only shaking his head. He's not backing down.

The escort ignores Tino as a couple of Peacekeepers haul him from the Square. He reads off the girl's name.

"Louise—"

"STOP!" I bellow. There is only one girl in the District named Louise.

The square goes silent as my voice carries. I storm to the stage, grab a Peacekeeper by the collar and yell, "You said you'd take her out!"

No one speaks. The Peacekeeper is whimpering like a child. "I—I must have missed one…"

I drop him on the ground and turn to the escort. "This should not have happened. I was promised that if I took extra tessera, I could replace her name with mine. I'll go as tribute for District 3!"

And people are cheering. Louise seems shell-shocked, and a little bit angry. I know, though, that the reason everyone else is so happy is that they are sure this will be the last they see of me. And they are probably right.

It's not that I can't win. If I win, if I kill the other tributes, I'll prove that I'm lethal, that I can't be trusted. So if I win, I lose everything.

I'm going to have to lose on purpose.

When Louise comes in to say goodbye, she's furious. She storms into the room and punches me in the gut.

"You idiot! You were bribing the Peacekeepers this whole time? Do you know how embarrassing that is?"

"Why—"

"Everyone has a slip in there. We're all equal, we all have a chance. And you were making the Peacekeepers remove me. It's like I was too good for the Reaping, better than everyone else! I would have been happy to go to the Hunger Games if my name was called. What you did wasn't fair to the other girls!"

She stops, and takes a few deep breaths. Then she hugs me.

"I'm sorry, Ludwig. I'm scared for you, and humiliated."

I hug her back. "I'm sorry. I screwed up."

She pulls away. "You need to try to win, Ludwig. Don't worry about what the other people think about you."

I shake my head. "I'll do my best, but I'm not going to try to win. I'll fight in self-defense, nothing more."

The Peacekeeper comes to take her away, and I'm regretting leaving her with those words. There was so much more to say, but I'm not good with feelings. And there's no reason to say goodbye when the sentiment is implied.

**And now we have new characters. Germany's part was a lot harder than I thought it would be. I had it all planned out, but I only remembered certain parts of it. And dialogue is not my strong suit.**

**The "big brother" thing that Norway does is actually from the show. He really wants Iceland to call him onii-chan, but Iceland refuses. And because I'm undecided in the matter, I've decided that Norway and Denmark are friends but not in love.**

**Other characters from different districts will be featured at later times. Switzerland and Liechtenstein will be featured very soon, if not at length.**

**Romulus=Rome**

**Erik=Iceland**

**Mathias=Denmark**

**Lukas=Norway**

**Louise=Fem Germany**

**Gilbert=Prussia**

**Sadiq=Turkey**

**Toris=Lithuania**

**Feliks=Poland**

**Felka=Fem Poland**

**Feliciana/ Feli= Fem Italy**

**Lovina=Fem South Italy**

**Antonio=Spain**

**Alaric=Germania**

**Elizaveta=Hungary**

**Roderich=Austria**

**Berwald= Sweden (the only character who's sexuality has been confirmed by Himaruya)**

**Tino=Finland**

**Ludwig=Germany**

**Effie Trinket=Effie Trinket**


	3. Chapter 3

**For those who don't know, Johanna Mason (featured more in Catching Fire) was from District 7. Thus, I have included her (represented by another character) in this chapter. Same with Finnick O'Dair. **

**I warn you that this chapter is mostly the musings of the tributes. I want you to get emotionally attached. And I always wondered what went on in the heads of the other tributes.**

**I realized that Islamic culture, in some cases, forbids the consumption of alcohol, but for the sake of continuity Turkey will continue to play Haymitch. Because France is required elsewhere.**

**Disclaimer: Although I quote **_**The Hunger Games**_**, I do not own Hetalia or the Hunger Games. All rights belong to their respective owners; the use of the characters and dialogue are for entertainment purposes only. Spread the fandom!**

**Chapter 3**

**District 12: Lovina**

In my room on the train, I change out of my dress and try on a pair of pants and a shirt that I find in one of the drawers. The green of the shirt goes nicely with the gold of the mockingjay pin, so I make sure to grab it on my way out the door to dinner. As I pin it to my chest, I remember how my father loved mockingjays. He used to whistle complicated tunes to them, and they would go silent for a minute before repeating the tune. It was almost as if the stupid animals were being respectful.

At the table, I find Effie Trinket and Antonio already seated. All the dishes look highly breakable. Most obvious, though, is the empty chair where a certain drunkard is supposed to be seated.

"Where's Sadiq?" Effie asks, plastering a smile to her stupid face. It's clear she's irked by his absence.

"No idea," Antonio replies. He clearly could care less.

The food comes, and it's all I can do to pace myself. A thick carrot soup, salad, lamb chops and green beans, exotic cheeses and grapes, and a chocolate cake.

We go to a compartment with a bigger television, where Effie turns on the recap of the reapings. I watch carefully, trying to commit the names to memory.

From District 1, the tributes look like twins. The girl is wearing skimpy clothes and the boy wears an old jacket from long before Panem was formed. The commentators are speculating about the willingness of these siblings—Alfred and Emily Jones—to kill each other in the arena. The boy from District 2, Ivan Braginski, is a hulking brute who is closely followed by his younger sister, Natalia. District 3 is pretty dramatic, what with the bastard volunteering for the girl. I know immediately that I want to steer clear of him. Compared to him, District 4 looks tame. This year's careers are a very tanned girl in a blue dress and a sleepy-looking guy with a cat hanging onto his shirt. The boy from District 8 is shivering in his boots. I try to remember his name—Raivas, I think—but I'm convinced he won't make it in the arena. His fellow tribute looks like a merchant, but I don't catch her name. In District 9, I see a similar scene to my own—a young girl is called, but her brother volunteers. He looks scary, but he has such a tender smile when talking to his sister. The escort calls another girl.

Most haunting, though, is the girl from District 11, a young blonde girl with a cute face. Her name escapes me, but she stands smiling, arms out at her sides as if ready to take off at any moment. Her older brother is called up, and again I worry about my odds in the arena.

Last of all, they show District 12, and I see for the first time how the audience saw me: a desperate, hysterical girl willing to do anything to save her sister. When Sadiq tumbles off the stage, the commentators laugh and show some replays of it. It seems that will be a highlight of this year's Games. Even I get a kick out of it.

Effie snorts. "Laugh while you can," she says, storming out of the room. "Sadiq is the one who will give you advice, and line up sponsors. So go ahead and laugh!"

Stupid Effie. She always has to kill the mood.

**District 7-Elizaveta Hedervary**

One point in my favour is that my mentor is the famed Julchen, the only female victor left from District 7. She's fairly young, having won the Games only a couple years ago. What makes her stand out is that she won the Games by pretending to be weak, and then, once in the arena, becoming a veritable killing machine.

However, my excitement at meeting her wanes a bit once I remember that she's a cousin of Gilbert—and the fact that she shows up in my compartment naked doesn't help. Before she even says hello, she opens my clothes drawer and helps herself. I can't help but wonder where her clothes went; surely she didn't board the train naked? Come to think of it, I don't recall seeing her at the Reaping.

Once Julchen is dressed, she lounges on my bed. "So, you're the new tribute. You don't look like much."

I bristle at this remark, even though I know it's true. I chose the prettiest skirt to wear once I boarded the train, and I took care to wash my hair and part it just right. The only thing I kept from my Reaping outfit was the flower hairpin my father left me.

I lift my chin. "I assure you, when I'm provoked, I can be vicious."

Julchen just smirks. "Only when provoked? You're screwed, girl." She crosses her legs and leans back, letting her long silver hair sway back and forth. "The key to winning in the arena is: always be ready to kill. Maybe you're against the big guy from District 11. Or maybe your opponent is the little kid from District 8. Either way, you have to treat them like you would treat a rapist—without mercy."

This sudden change in Julchen shocks me. One moment she's naked and going through my clothes, the next she's all business.

"And why aren't you telling Gilbert this?" I ask, lacking any other comeback.

Julchen snorts. "Gil? He doesn't need me. He'll figure it out all on his own. Or so he thinks."

A knock on the door startles me, and I whip around. The door is open; Julchen didn't bother to close it. Gilbert stands in the doorway with a hand over his eyes. "Is it safe to look?"

In the moment it takes me to realize he's asking about Julchen's nudity, Julchen has answered with, "Sure."

"Let me rephrase that: would _I_ think it's safe to look?"

Julchen straightens up and heaves an exasperated sigh. "I'm dressed, Gilbert."

Gilbert lowers his hand tentatively. "You have to stop doing that, Julchen. Awesome people don't see their girl cousins naked. At least make sure my door is closed before waltzing past."

Julchen waves his comment away. "It's no big deal. Besides, you'll probably die anyway, so this may be your last chance to see a naked woman."

Gilbert blushes. "Yeah, right. I'm too awesome to die in the arena."

Julchen shrugs. "Perhaps, but remember, there are twenty-four of you in there, and only one winner. Awesome has nothing to do with it."

Silence. I know that she's right, and I can see that Gilbert does, too.

My stomach growls; it's about time for dinner, but Julchen seems to have no inclination to move, and I don't want to leave her here.

As if sensing my thoughts, Gilbert motions for me to leave. "I'll get her out eventually," he says. "And, hopefully, she'll be fully clothed."

I laugh and exit my room. When I'm a safe distance away, I realize that I'm in trouble. Once I'm in the arena, Gilbert is my enemy. Yet here I am, getting to know him, laughing at his jokes, accepting his help. All this will make him harder for me to kill.

The solution is simple: I'm going to have to have as little to do with Gilbert as possible.

**District 5- Erik Steillson**

I see the lights of another district out the window. Which one is it? 4? 2? How much longer until we reach the Capitol?

I think of the people in the districts whose children are safe, the families settling down for dinner, celebrating another lucky year. And then I think of Lukas, alone in our house, without even a friend to join him. Mathias used to come over on any night he pleased and make himself at home. He'd always stay for dinner, but after a while I noticed that he took less when there was less to go around. And always, the largest portion was left for me.

I've already spent most of the train ride remembering all the little things I didn't know Lukas had done for me. At the time, I never saw those acts for what they were: signs of love. My brother was always looking out for me, and I only ever repaid him with scorn.

How many times did Lukas go to bed with an empty stomach? How many of his possessions did he trade in the black market, just to get food to feed me? And how many times did I whine, yell at him, call him lazy, because I didn't have enough to eat?

It's a wonder that he didn't just throw me out.

At least when I die in the arena, Lukas won't have to worry about me anymore. I know I'm not going to win; if District Five has a chance, it's in Mathias. I'm too young, too skinny, too inexperienced to even know how to wield a stick. Other than a knowledge of how to be hungry, I've led a relatively sheltered life.

Mathias seems to be enjoying his stay on the train. If I didn't know better, I would think he was actually excited to go to the Games. But I know Mathias too well; he's worried about Lukas, too. We were his family. Lukas has no other friends. Mathias, on the other hand, would have been able to cope with the loneliness and make new friends.

I wonder if Mathias made Lukas promise not to volunteer if I were called. It seems likely; Mathias would probably rather kill me than his best friend. Being the youngest, they probably thought I would never survive on my own. And they would be right.

**District 8-Raivas Galante**

I can't sleep. The rocking of the train makes me sick. We've only stopped once, to refuel, and that was the only moment of bliss I've had since I was called as tribute.

It feels like it's been a lifetime since the Reaping. How could it be that only this morning, I was helping Peter with his collar? The one time I feel like a big brother to him, and the same day I get called as tribute?

He's not really my brother. Usually I wish he were, so I could have a family. But today I'm glad, in a way, that Peter is only a friend. He won't be losing a brother.

I haven't stopped shaking since the Reaping. It's nothing new; I spend most of my time shaking. District Eight couldn't have a sorrier tribute.

No one in Panem will be surprised when I die. I'll probably be one of the first.

Will Peter cry? Will he even watch?

Peter's lucky. He still has a few years before he qualifies as tribute. But what happens if he gets picked? For all his talk of being a warrior, Peter probably doesn't have any more of a chance than I do.

Whether it's from the motion sickness, the non-stop shivering, or worry, I don't know, but I rush to the bathroom and become violently ill.

Great. What kind of tribute spends his time vomiting? Maybe I'll die before I even reach the Capitol. I wonder if a new tribute would be chosen, or if the Games would continue with one less tribute.

**District 4-Victoire**

There are most likely any number of nightgowns in the drawers, but I choose to sleep in my short blue dress. I haven't removed it since the Reaping; if at all possible, I want it to be my token. Most tributes bring small things into the arena, but all I have is my dress.

Francis Bonnefoy, our mentor, was a lot different than I thought he would be. He's well-known in the Capitol for being promiscuous, but he seemed—fatherly, almost. As if he wanted to protect me, and not train me to kill. Which may or may not prove unhelpful.

I can't help but feel that District Four's hopes ride on me. Although Heracles Karpusi, my fellow tribute, is known in our district as a killing machine, he seems so—lazy. He basically slept through dinner.

The cat that was clinging to him at the Reaping has mysteriously disappeared. For some reason, I find myself wondering what the other tributes brought as tokens.

Great. I'm headed towards almost-certain death, and I'm worried about my opponents' toys. Totally the mindset of a killer.

I climb in between the sheets and immediately feel as if I'm sleeping in a cloud. Are all Capitol beds like this? If so, I'm jealous. Surely they have enough mattresses to give to the Districts.

The rocking of the train reminds me of a loud fishing boat. What I would give to be back home with my parents, out on the sea! The closest thing to the ocean now is tears, and even those seem to have forsaken me.

**District 12- Lovina Vargas**

I'm woken up by Effie Trinket rapping on my door and trilling, "Up, up, up! It's going to be a big, big day!" I can't help but wonder what goes on in her head.

I put on the outfit from the previous day, since it's relatively clean, and join Effie out in the hall. Upon reaching the dining car, she hands me a cup of coffee. Across the table, Sadiq is chuckling, about what I've no clue. I'm pretty sure I heard him vomiting last night, most likely from over-indulging on drink. Antonio is munching on a toasted bagel and frowning.

"Sit down!" Sadiq motions for me to join them. As soon as I sit down, I'm served a heaping pile of eggs and sausage, fruit, and rolls. An elaborate pitcher of orange juice sits before me. I've only ever has orange juice once, at New Year's, before my father died. I set aside the coffee and pour myself a glass of juice instead.

Antonio slides another mug towards me, this one filled with a thick brown liquid. "It's called hot chocolate," he informs me, stealing my orange juice. "It's too sweet for me, but it might mellow you out."

I scowl at him before taking a sip. He's right; it's very sweet. And I love it. I drain the rest of the drink before turning my attention to the food on my plate. I try to avoid most of the sausage; one bite tells me it's rich, and I don't want an upset stomach.

I remember one time when my mother scolded me for eating too quickly. She said I eat like I'll never see food again. I told her, "I won't unless I bring it home." That shut her up.

When I've finished eating, I sit back and watch Sadiq. He keeps pouring alcohol into a glass of red juice. Having seen him around the Hob, buying white liquor by the case, I know he'll be incoherent by the time we reach the Capitol.

I realize I detest Sadiq. No wonder District 12 hasn't had a victor in nearly 25 years. The tributes have had an alcoholic mentor who clearly thinks this is all a joke.

"So…you're supposed to give us advice," I hear Antonio say. He's obviously trying to be nice to Sadiq.

Sadiq throws back another glass of juice. "Here's some advice. Stay alive," he says, his words heavily slurred. I exchange a look with Antonio.

"That's very funny," he says. Suddenly he lashes out and stabs a knife into the table near Sadiq's hand, causing Sadiq to drop the glass he is refilling. "Only not to us."

Effie Trinket gasps. "That is mahogany!"

Sadiq watches the spilled drink spill across the floor. Just as quickly as Antonio struck, Sadiq swings and hits Antonio in the jaw, sending him whipping back in his chair. I grab the bottle of liquor and hand it to a passing servant, who takes it out of the room. When Sadiq makes to lunge for the servant, I stick my foot out and trip him up. Sadiq turns his attention from the servant to me. But instead of lashing out, he sits back and considers me.

"Well, what have we here? A couple of fighters?" Sadiq mutters. He gestures to me. "What can _you_ do besides confiscate my drink at the speed of light?"

In response, I grab my own knife and toss it across the room. It lodges in a crack in the wood, making me look far better than I really am.

"Stand over here. Both of you," says Sadiq, nodding to the middle of the room. He inspects us a bit more as we obey him, and then launches straight into, "I'll make you a deal. You two don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you. But!" He holds up a finger. "You have to do exactly what I say."

It's a stupid deal. It's all win for Sadiq, and only somewhat more convenient for us. But it's better than nothing.

"Fine," I say, and Antonio nods beside me.

"Okay." Sadiq rubs his hands together. "We'll arrive at the station in a few minutes. I'll hand you over to your stylists. You most likely aren't going to like what they do to you, but no matter what, do not resist."

"But—" I begin.

"Don't resist." Sadiq cuts me off with a wag of his finger. He grabs an unused glass and fills it with orange juice, then leaves the two of us alone with Effie Trinket.

**District 10-Toris Laurinatis**

Felka hasn't done anything to boost my confidence, and by the time we're traveling through the tunnel that leads through the mountains to the Capitol, I'm positively nerve wracked. Felka basically told us what we already know—that we're going to die—and provided no other assistance in any way. Not even a plan. She seems to have abandoned us to fate.

Once we're out of the tunnel, Feliks joins me and promptly heads for the window. He spends the rest of the train ride waving at the citizens of the Capitol and exclaiming over the 'fabulous' styles and architecture.

Once we reach the station, we're hustled off the train and surrounded by bodyguards. Up ahead is the remake center, part of the giant building that contains the Training area and the tributes' rooms. Feliks is glowing with excitement at the prospect of a makeover, but I'm too busy craning my neck to see around the guards and, hopefully, catch a glimpse of another tribute.

When I finally succeed, I immediately recognize the boy. He's the tribute from District 8, the shivering one. He's still shivering, but he's dressed in nicer clothes now. He looks like he might be sick, and he's definitely been crying.

My view of the boy is cut off by one of the guards. Not a moment too soon, either; I feel sorry for the boy from District Eight. I can't afford to feel sorry. I just have to hope someone else kills him.

The thought shocks me. I can't believe I am considering the scenario where this boy is dead. Admittedly, it's very likely, but I never thought I would be hoping that someone else would be killed in cold blood.

**Long chapter, da?**

**Lots of characters this chapter. Next up, we have the opening ceremony! I'll probably spend time on different districts' outfits. Needless to say, District 7 are dressed as trees. It even says so in Catching Fire. Poor Gil and Eliza have to be trees…**

**I've just decided to write down all the tributes, in case you get confused as to who the unnamed tributes are. Every single one of them is a Hetalia character. Remember, I might change up who dies and who lives. Only time will tell.**

**Characters (and who they play/District, if applicable):**

**Tributes:**

**Lovina Vargas-Female South Italy (District 12)**

**Antonio- Spain (District 12)**

**Alfred Jones-America (District 1)**

**Emily Jones- Female America (District 1)**

**Ivan Braginski- Russia (District 2)**

**Natalia- Belarus (District 2)**

**Ludwig- Germany (District 3; friend of Louise)**

**Berwald- Sweden (District 3)**

**Heracles-Greece (District 4)**

**Victoire-Seychelles (District 4)**

**Mathias-Denmark (District 5)**

**Erik-Iceland (District 5)**

**Kiku- Japan (District 6)**

**Sakura- Female Japan (District 6, sister to Kiku)**

**Elizaveta- Hungary (District 7)**

**Gilbert- Prussia (District 7)**

**District 8 Female (Unnamed)**

**Raivas- Latvia (District 8)**

**District 9 Female (unnamed)**

**Vash-Switzerland (District 9)**

**Feliks-Poland (District 10)**

**Toris-Lithuania (District 10)**

**Bel-Belgium (District 11, plays Rue)**

**Lars-Netherlands (District 11, Thresh)**

**Mentors:**

**Sadiq-Turkey (plays Haymitch)**

**Julchen- Female Prussia (plays Johanna Mason, and is cousin to Gilbert)**

**Felka- Female Poland (District 10 mentor, Feliks' older sister)**

**Francis-France (District 4, plays Finnick)**

**Citizens:**

**Tino- Finland (District 3, replaced by Berwald)**

**Louise- Female Germany (District 3, replaced by Ludwig)**

**Lukas-Norway (District 5; brother to Erik)**

**Roderich- Austria (District 7; Elizaveta's boyfriend)**

**Peter-Sealand (District 8, friend of Raivas)**

**Lili-Liechtenstein (District 9, replaced by Vash)**

**Romulus- Ancient Rome (deceased; father of Lovina and Feliciana Vargas)**

**Feliciana- Female Italy (District 12, replaced by Lovina)**

**Alaric- Germania (District 12; friend of Romulus)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Just to see who reads the author's note, if you review, put a (^^) after your review (it's a Kirby)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or Hetalia. If I did, Vietnam would get more screentime and Canada X Ukraine would be canon.**

**Chapter 4**

**District 12- Lovina POV**

I grit my teeth as Venia, a woman with aqua hair and gold tattoos, yanks a strip of fabric off my leg, tearing out the hair beneath it. Thank goodness that was the last one.

It's been three hours, and my stylist still hasn't shown up. It appears the bastard won't see me until after my prep team—consisting of Venia, Flavius, and Octavia—have finished with me. So far, I've been rubbed down with a gritty foam that's shaved off about three layers of my skin; had my eyebrows plucked; and lost every bit of body hair, other than my head and some obvious places I wouldn't let anyone touch. I feel like a plucked bird, and I don't like it. Still, I'm honoring my part of the agreement with Sadiq; that thought has been the only thing keeping me from swiping at my prep teams' eyes.

I'm told to remove the thin robe I am wearing. I do so, and am immediately greased down all over with a lotion that stings, then soothes my skin. The three step back to admire their work.

"Perfect!" Octavia sings.

"You almost look like a human being now!" Flavius says, applying another coat of purple lipstick and brushing his bright orange curls out of his face.

I snort. Like they have any right to talk. "Yeah, well, in District 12 we don't have cause to look pretty."

My prep team apparently misses the sarcasm in my voice and instead begins to fawn over me.

"Of course you don't, you poor darling!" Octavia gushes, clasping her hands.

"Don't worry," Flavius says. "When he's done with you, I promise you'll be gorgeous!" He considers me. "You know, now that we've removed the hair and filth, you don't look horrible at all."

My prep team chorus, "Let's call him in!" and dart out of the room. I'm still not sure whether to like them or hate them. Can one hate people who are oblivious?

I leave my robe on the floor; odds are I'll have to take it off when the stylist person arrives. Everyone has simply referred to him as "him" or "he". It's as if they think I'll know him already.

The door opens and a young man enters. I'm surprised at how normal he looks. So many stylists who are interviewed are so covered in tattoos, dyes, piercings, and/or surgically altered body parts that it churns my stomach. But his hair appears to be its natural shade of brown. The only sign of self-alteration is lightly applied gold eyeliner.

"Hello, Lovina. I'm Yao, your stylist. But everyone simply calls me China. It's so nice to meet you."

"No one has mentioned you by name," I say. "And why China?"

The man smiles and gestures towards a genuine porcelain teacup that is sitting in the corner, empty and apparently out of place. "This is a porcelain cup, as you may know." He picks it up and handles it gently. "Long ago, there were many countries, and they all interacted. One such country, the people if whom I am descended, was called China, and they produced the most wonderful porcelain—so wonderful, in fact, that in other parts of the world it was called China. As a nod to my ancestry, I go by this name of China. As an excuse, though, I say, quite correctly, that I am a fan of porcelain, and wish to be called a similar name. And besides, my skin sort of matches, yes?" He holds the cup up to his face with a smile. I nod.

"Just give me a moment, all right?" He begins to walk around me, not touching, but taking in every inch, every detail, with his eyes. I have to resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest, so I keep them behind my back.

"You're new, aren't you? I haven't seen you before." What I'm thinking is, _You look so normal I think I'd remember you_.

"Yes, I am."

"So they gave you District 12," I say.

"Yes, but I quite prefer it. Each district comes with its own set of possibilities. Please put on your robe now. I'd like to have a chat before we get to work."

District 4

Victoire POV

"It'll look lovely on you!" Oramela, my stylist, gushes. "It's got real scales that have been altered to shine in brilliant colours, and a coral tiara! You'll be the most beautiful tribute of them all!"

Oramela proudly holds up the mermaid costume. She's right about the scales, and the fin is made of transparent material rather like fibers, but much stronger, she told me. And it flips easily, so I can look like a real mermaid. She's even created costumes for the horses.

I cross my arms over my small chest, unhappy about the nudity. Oramela insisted that she did not ever want to see us in her studio with "outside" clothes.

By us, of course, I mean myself and Heracles. He seems absolutely bored with the whole thing, and except for looking me over a few times, he's payed no interest to me.

His costume is simply a seaweed skirt, something that Oramela called a "kilt". He's got a nice body, so she must think that showing off his abs will bring in sponsors. His enthusiasm might be an offset to that, though.

I slip into the costume and plop on the closest seat, unable to walk in it. Oramela claps like a child receiving a present, cooing and congratulating herself on her beautiful creation.

"You'll look even better on the chariot!" she says as Heracles slips his kilt on. She leaves the room, clearly expecting us to follow.

I manage to get to my feet, but even as I try to hop and hobble along I know it isn't going to work. I trip on my next step, and am only save from falling on my face by the strong arms of Heracles, who has moved surprisingly fast (for him) in order to catch me.

"You okay?" he asks, possibly the first line of dialogue he has said to me.

"Yes, thank you."

He sweeps me up and carries me out the door, despite my initial protest. But it's nice, being carried like a fairytale princess from those stories my mother used to tell. Of course, Heracles isn't really a prince, and he doesn't have any interest in me, anyways. But the fact that someone who has been trained as a killer is kind enough to help me to my chariot still warms my heart.

I shouldn't even have a heart. I'm a killer, too, aren't I?

District 12

Lovina POV

I survey the meal set before me. China has pressed a button, and what seems like a feast has appeared.

I see sauce-covered spaghetti and meatballs, ravioli, dumplings, something China calls "wonton soup", chicken and orange chunks in a creamy sauce over rice, green onions, zucchini flowers baked in a batter and stuffed with herbs and cheese, and a rack of lamb seasoned to perfection with spices I have never heard of. And there is a creamy, blueberry-flavoured soda that China says used to be called an Italian soda, but is now simply called a Tala.

I try to imagine creating this meal at home, and although my mind fails to invent the dumpling and soup, I know that I could attempt the onions, although they would not taste the same. If we grew zucchini, we might get the flours, but the batter would be hard to make and there would only be cheese as stuffing. I could substitute blueberry juice, I guess, for the soda, and I'd need to shoot a turkey to trade for oranges. But chicken would be impossible to trade for, so a second turkey would have to take its place. We have no way of making pasta, since our antique pasta maker has rusted and is falling to bits. And besides, that object is taboo. We should have turned it in to the Capitol, or at least traded it on the black market, but it was my father's.

As if he's reading my mind, China looks me in the eye and says, "How despicable we must seem to you."

I nod. There's no point in denying it. I'm not one to mince words, or opinions.

District 10

Toris POV

I wait on my chariot next to Feliks. We're dressed as fluffy sheep, and it's exceedingly embarrassing, but we might attract more attention than the District Seven trees.

District 12's tributes have yet to show up, but I can see District 4 getting ready. The male tribute is helping the stylist, a freakishly tall woman with a poof of green hair and golden skin, to situate the female tribute—her name, Victoire, somehow sticks in my mind—on a depression in a fake rock built into the chariot. The grooms are fitting the horses in a fish-like tail and a transparent blanket to cover their legs, so the chariot is set back a bit from the horses, more than usual.

Once Victoire is perfectly positioned, the male tribute mounts the carriage and sits on a lower rock to her left, almost out of my view. He's been given an armrest, built into the side of her rock, but he's using his arm as a pillow, so it's more of a headrest.

District One is splendid in brilliant gold and silver, the girl in a slim revealing dress and the boy in a jacket and trousers. No shirt to be found anywhere near him. He must have abs, but I can't see them because he's turned the other way, talking to his stylist about something. He must be angry.

District Two is standing still as statues, staring straight ahead. They've got one pure white costumes, his a regal robe trimmed with thick fur and an opalescent scepter set with a diamond, hers a flowing white dress with feathers on her hips, shoulders, and sleeves. She has an oversized headdress of feathers that seems as if it should weigh her head back, but she supports it as if it weighs nothing at all. Despite her brother's warm, scary smile, her mouth is set in a grim line, as if the snow-white of her outfit has affected her mood, turning her as chilly as the winter wind. It takes a great effort to turn my face away.

I hear announcements outside, signaling the approach of our Capitol debut. Just before the gates open, District 12 appears in plain black suits. Maybe we do stand a chance.

As our chariot pulls out, I swear I hear some laughter spattered throughout the ardent applause. We must look ridiculous. I can't even put my arms at my sides, my outfit is so poofy. Feliks is loving it, though. He's waving and blowing kisses, probably feeling like a star.

Then I hear a roar of excitement, and although I know we aren't supposed to look back, I can't help it.

And there is District 12, in their plain black suits, glowing under the light of the flames that cover their capes, headpieces, and limbs.

And they're holding hands.

**Has anyone noticed that 'China' and 'Cinna' are spelled a lot alike? I really wanted to just call China by his country name. **

**Sorry for the horrible chapter ending. I just really wanted to skip the rest of the ceremony. And I can't remember if I promised interviews, but if I did, I lied. I'm not sorry.**

**ALSO! I chose a character for District 9's female. She's going to replace Foxface in the story. To be honest, I had her in there from the start, but I recently forgot why, so I took her out. Then I remembered and replaced her.**

**Just from writing this, I think I'm starting to ship Greece X Seychelles. And it's not even fanon in this story! **

**Tributes:**

**Lovina Vargas-Female South Italy (District 12)**

**Antonio- Spain (District 12)**

**Alfred Jones-America (District 1)**

**Emily Jones- Female America (District 1)**

**Ivan Braginski- Russia (District 2)**

**Natalia - Belarus (District 2, sister to Ivan)**

**Ludwig- Germany (District 3; friend of Louise)**

**Berwald- Sweden (District 3)**

**Heracles-Greece (District 4)**

**Victoire-Seychelles (District 4)**

**Mathias-Denmark (District 5)**

**Erik-Iceland (District 5)**

**Kiku- Japan (District 6)**

**Sakura- Female Japan (District 6, sister to Kiku)**

**Elizaveta- Hungary (District 7)**

**Gilbert- Prussia (District 7)**

**District 8 Female (Unnamed)**

**Raivas- Latvia (District 8)**

**Lien- Vietnam (District 9)**

**Vash-Switzerland (District 9)**

**Feliks-Poland (District 10)**

**Toris-Lithuania (District 10)**

**Bel-Belgium (District 11, plays Rue)**

**Lars-Netherlands (District 11, Thresh)**

**Mentors:**

**Sadiq-Turkey (plays Haymitch)**

**Julchen- Female Prussia (plays Johanna Mason, and is cousin to Gilbert)**

**Felka- Female Poland (District 10 mentor, Feliks' older sister)**

**Francis-France (District 4, plays Finnick)**

**Yao-China (plays Cinna)**

**Citizens:**

**Tino- Finland (District 3, replaced by Berwald)**

**Louise- Female Germany (District 3, replaced by Ludwig)**

**Lukas-Norway (District 5; brother to Erik)**

**Roderich- Austria (District 7; Elizaveta's boyfriend)**

**Peter-Sealand (District 8, friend of Raivas)**

**Lili-Liechtenstein (District 9, replaced by Vash)**

**Romulus- Ancient Rome (deceased; father of Lovina and Feliciana Vargas)**

**Feliciana- Female Italy (District 12, replaced by Lovina)**

**Alaric- Germania (District 12; friend of Romulus)**

**Extras:**

**Oramela- Stylist for District 4**


	5. Chapter 5

**Lol I've been procrastinating. Tumblr is so addictive…and then there is school. Why does school even exist. Besides the obvious reason.**

**Too many one-shots popping in my head. I have like seven fics going at the moment (I haven't posted them all) so I need to fruking FOCUS!**

**To hurry the story along, I am going to try to fit the training and the interviews into one chapter. This is going to be a very long chapter, as you might have guessed.**

**SO enjoy this not-for-profit, I-own-nothing, totally-for-entertainment-purposes-so-please-no-one-bring-me-to-court fanfiction.**

**Chapter 5**

**District 12**

**Lovina POV**

Damn Effie is flipping out over our successful debut. She's positively hysterical. I guess that's to be expected. Antonio and I are the only tributes she's ever sponsored who have made a splash. But Effie doesn't need to be so happy about it.

Despite our success, I'm in one of my moods. I smiled during the parade, but all the while I thought about how all these people watching us, cheering for us, simply wanted to watch us kill each other. I was dressed up like one of their turkeys.

"Unfortunately," Effie says, "I can't line up sponsors for you. Only Sadiq is allowed to do that, and I haven't seen him since this morning. But don't you worry, dear. I'll get him to it at gunpoint if necessary."

Although the woman is severely lacking in both looks and smarts, she has a certain determination that I have to admire. Maybe Antonio and I aren't so screwed, after all.

I run off to take a shower. There are so many buttons, the on/off knob is lost, so I just press a random one. I am immediately bombarded with lemon-scented conditioner. Not what I want. Next button: water squirts out from beneath me. I make a mental note not to press that button again.

Finally, I succeed in turning on the water, and by chance I activate the soap dispenser. It takes a few tries (during which I am scrubbed by bristly brushes, sprayed with orange-and-chamomile scent, and drenched in a foul-smelling oil), but eventually I locate a shampoo, and I get lavender-scented hair. I rewashed my body with soap and step out onto the mat, only to be met with hot gushes of air that feels as if it is trying to strip my skin from my body. I place my hand on a box and a current of air scrapes through my scalp, detangling my hair and allowing it to float around my shoulders in a glossy, chocolate-coloured curtain.

I then program the wardrobe and receive an outfit that suits my sense of style. Jeans and a plain white dress shirt work for me. A remote near my bed allows me to view the city using the window as a screen, and even choose scenery and sounds. I pause for a bit on the forest scene. It looks and sounds so much like the woods at home. Catching myself getting homesick, I shake my head and change the scene back to the city.

Effie knocks at my door to announce that dinner is served. She doesn't wait for me to join her, so I walk to the dining room alone.

China is joining us for dinner, and when I enter he offers me a glass of wine. I've never had real wine before, although my mother told me that my father used to make the best wine. I take the glass, and one sip tells me that the beverage needs honey in it to make it worthwhile.

Sadiq shows up just as dinner is being served. He's cleaned up and sober. I offer him the rest of my wine, and he takes it before handing me a glass of milk. "You're going to need strong bones for the Games."

When he starts to eat his carrot soup, I realize this is the first time I've really seen him eat. Sure, he's had a few nibbles of bread or fruit here and there, but for the most part he seems to have been living of a diet of that damn alcohol he always consumes. It's a relief to see him acting a bit more human.

China has a calming effect on Effie and Sadiq, it seems, because they don't fight whatsoever during the meal. My guess is that they don't wish to seem uncivilised in front of a new stylist, but I might be wrong.

At the end of the meal, a servant girl walks in with a large, beautiful cake and sets it on table before lighting the candles atop it on fire. In the glow of the candles, I get a clear look at her face.

And I recognize that face.

**District 4**

**Victoire POV**

Heracles just sits there as Oramela screams at him. She's pissed that her creations were not the most noticed costumes at the parade, and she's putting all the blame on us.

But Heracles doesn't bat an eyelash. A couple of times, he even sleeps a bit. Giving up on Heracles as a lost cause, Oramela changes tack and turns her attention to me.

Her words sort of fly over my head, but enough is getting through to hurt. _Lazy. Ugly. Whore. Stupid._ These words shouldn't affect me. I'm a trained fighter; I should be acting like Heracles. But instead my stupid emotions get in the way, and I react with tears and cringing.

Oramela is getting angrier and angrier. She raises her hand, ready to slap me. I close my eyes and shy away as her hand comes whipping down.

The impact never comes. I peek from behind my arms, and find that Heracles has woken up from his latest nap, and has Oramela's wrist in a tight grasp. He bends it backward slowly but firmly, until the stylist stops making threats and starts pleading. And still he applies pressure, ignoring her cries of pain and the approaching footsteps that signal the imminent arrival of Francis. He doesn't let go of her wrist until, with a sickening _crack_, the bone breaks beneath his fingers.

Howling and screaming in agony, Oramela runs about the room, as if she were in so much pain she was going to die. It's standard in District Four to have a bone broken at some point in training, so I know the feeling. I also know that nobody ever reacts so dramatically to a broken wrist in our district. This sort of thing is what truly differentiates the Capitolites and the district people.

I have to look away from both Oramela and Heracles; Oramela because she's being ridiculous, and Heracles because once again he has surprised me. This time I'm not sure I like it.

Francis arrives in the room, takes one look at the hysterical Oramela, and takes control. Before long Oramela is out of the room and on her way to the hospital ward, convinced by Francis's smooth words that it is in her best interest to feign her injury as caused by a careless fall. This leaves me alone with Heracles.

Luckily, he's fallen asleep again, so I simply sneak off to my bedroom and climb under the covers.

What is it about Heracles that disturbs me so much? I trained alongside him at home. I know he's a seasoned fighter. I should be, too, and yet I'm finding myself more and more affected by small things that never fazed me before. I've seen lots of kids get their bones broken, I've seen people breaking other people's bones. I grew up with the mindset of a killer. And now, when I finally have a chance to put to use all my training, all my preparation, I've lost all my resolve. I've become another weakling, a girl like any other in any district. The kind of girl who dies in the arena.

And Heracles, despite his lethargy, is showing himself to be the kind of person who wins. If District Four has a hope, it's Heracles, not me.

**District 12**

**Lovina's POV**

The lights are out in my bedroom, but my mind is whirling. I _know_ I've seen that girl before.

When I asked China about the girl, all he said was she is an "Avox". He explained what it is, but he didn't know anything more.

I remember the time and place when I saw that girl. It was the only time Antonio didn't join me to hunt. He had caught a bad cold, and his mother refused to allow him out of the house. I couldn't put off hunting another day, so I went out alone. I had just killed a large buck when the girl ran out of some bushes near me, followed closely by a taller boy with brown hair.

Startled, I hid in a copse. The girl looked much as she does now, the same long brown hair, decorated with two pink flower clips. Soon after she emerged in the clearing, a large craft blotted out the sun, and she screamed for help. A harpoon shot out of the bottom of the ship and pierced the boy's chest. Over the drone of the ship, I heard the girl yell, "Yong Soo!" Then a tractor beam caught her, and though she struggled, she was pulled aboard. While she was being taken, her eyes locked onto mine, and never left until she was out of sight.

I was able to put the memory out of my mind until now. Now, however, I'm confronted with feelings of regret, shame, and anger. I roll over, but I can't get comfortable in these downy sheets. Everywhere I look in the dark room I see that girls face.

The door creaks a bit as it cracks open. The light from the hallway is still on, giving me a glimpse of a female silhouette before the door closes again. The long hair that swished when the figure entered the room tells me who the visitor is.

I wait a few minutes, unsure of where the girl is. Then, with a flicker, a candle is lit, illuminating the face of the Avox girl who holds it. Her face has no emotion in it, or perhaps it is simply hard to decipher because of the changing light of the candle. Whatever the reason, I feel a thrill of terror as the girl inches closer to my bed. She must know I'm awake; the candlelight has fallen on my face.

I glance at the hand that does not hold the candle. No weapon of any kind. She's not here to kill me, then. Or perhaps she means to smother me with a pillow. I can think of no reason for a visit other than to get revenge on me, for not helping her when she needed it.

The candle is placed on the side table, near a small vase containing a rose and a peony. The girl bends down, peering at my face, as if to verify that I am the person she is looking for. She still wears no expression.

As she is unable to, it is my job to break the silence. I whisper, "What so you want with me?"

Her eyes widen. She clearly did not expect me to speak. Instead of fleeing, though, she turns and opens a drawer in the side table, extracting a pen and pad of paper that Effie told me were part of my "complementary" package, whatever that means. The girl scribbles something on the pad, and holds it up to the light so I can see it. I sit up a bit to read the message.

_You are the girl from the woods?_

I nod. She writes some more.

_That is what I wanted to know._

She moves to put the pad away, and I know this means she plans to leave. Now that she has ascertained my identity, she has no further business.

But I don't want her to go. I grab her wrist. "Wait!"

She waits. I release her wrist.

"What is your name?"

I don't know why I ask her that. I just need a reason to make her stay.

She writes her answer out on the pad. _Meimei_.

"I'm Lovina."

_I know. You are here with your boyfriend?_

I shake my head. "Friend. That's it. Nothing more."

Meimei smiles knowingly, and continues to write. _The boy who died, he was my 'friend', too. His name was Im Yong Soo. They did not spare his life._

"Meimei, I'm so sorry, but I couldn't have helped you. They would have captured me, too."

I'm hit with how shallow that sounds, without the context of my family to back it up. But Meimei doesn't seem offended. _I understand. Why risk your life for a stranger? It would have done no good. _

I am out of things to say to Meimei, but I still don't want to be left alone in this strange room. She seems to sense that, because she writes a few sentences, places the pad and pen on the table, and with a wave, exits the room. I pick up the pad and read what has been left.

_Do not be scared. As long as you are here, you are safe. But when you must enter the arena, you must make a promise—to me, to yourself, to your family back home—that you will not turn into a scared child, or a mindless killer. You must do your best to show the Capitol that you are not just a pawn in their games. I wish you the best of luck._

I read and reread the note, absorbing the words that an unexpected new friend has left for me. She would have been a very good friend had she lived in District 12 with me. If only circumstances had been different.

I rip the note from the pad, and tear the other pages from it, too. I rip up the ones that Meimei has written on, save the note, and throw them away with the blank pages and the empty shell of the pad. No need to leave them out where some attendant could see them; Meimei would face the consequences for sure. I fold up the note and search for a place to hide it, somewhere I'll remember when I have to leave for the arena. Unfortunately, the only place I can think of is my cleavage, since I have no guarantee that I will be able to bring anything from this room with me.

With the note concealed in its intimate hiding place, I burrow under the covers and allow myself to relax, until I fall asleep.

District 3

Ludwig

The shower is basically a death trap, minus the death. I still have no got the hang of it. This time I am drenched in a lemony-smelling foam that has to be scraped off. It's almost as if the buttons change function every day.

Once I've successfully washed and avoided the air-mat, I exit the bathroom to find a pair of black pants, a long-sleeve green tunic, and leather shoes. It doesn't look exactly comfortable, but since it's been laid out for me, it must mean I am supposed to wear it. I don the required clothing and venture back to the mirror. Since arriving, I've discovered a tub of hair gel, which allows me to slick my hair back out of my eyes. Usually such frivolous stuff as appearance would not be my sort of thing, but besides being useful, I find it makes me seem more authoritarian, and I feel a bit of intimidation would do me good.

I head to the dining room, hoping there will be food. I am not disappointed. A long table on the side of the room is laden with all sorts of delicacies, just ripe for the picking. A young Avox man gestures to a pile of plates, indicating, I am sure, that I am to help myself. Perhaps this is what the Capitolites call a buffet?

I add an egg, some batter cakes smothered in thick orange preserves, and a huge pile of sausages to my plate. There are labels on the dishes, to help differentiate between the types of sausage and eggs. My favourite is the wurst. It's calming to eat it while watching the sun rise.

My mind wanders to Louise. While I am gorging myself on wurst, she is most likely eating a meager meal of cold leftovers. It's almost enough to make me regret my appetite. But she's safe at home, while I will need this extra protein to survive in the arena. If I am to die, which I must, eating this meal will not matter. It will simply have been an attempt to make me comfortable before my slaughter.

District 10

Toris Laurinaitus

I can tell Feliks is irritated. We were given the same outfit to wear today: purple tunics, brown leather pants and brown shoes. This is clearly a violation of his fashion code.

Felka just laughs at her brother's frustration, popping grapes into her mouth between guffaws. It's really making me nervous how little she seems to care for us. I get the feeling she isn't even trying to help us win.

Today is the day that the tributes train together, the first time we'll get to see our competition in action before the Games. It's when the Career Pack will be formed and when everyone plans the preferred order of killing. Some will be looking for weaklings to pick off; others will target the strong ones, to get them out of the game first, while they're in their prime. I honestly don't know how I stand in this.

During breakfast, I try to extract a few tips from Felka, to no avail. She's too busy laughing at everything I say, and eating those stupid grapes. I'm beginning to suspect that she may be a little drunk.

When I look at Feliks, I have no doubt how the competition will see him. With that tiny braid he has added to his hair in an attempt to accessorize, and his pouting face, even I can see that he's a weak player. He won't last in the arena; it will be a miracle if he makes it through the first day. It would be better to put him out of his misery at the very start, before he has to face the wilderness that is the arena. But I don't want to be the one to do it.

I really need to stop making a list of people I don't want to kill. Granted, that list is only two people long right now, but that's still two too many. In a life-or-death match, I need to be prepared to kill everyone.

District 12

Lovina Vargas

"Don't go to the archery station."

I peer at Sadiq over my mug of orange-flavoured hot chocolate. "Excuse me?"

"It's all about the element of surprise. You're an unknown to everyone else. Keeping your archery skills a secret can only help you."

I glance at Antonio. He shrugs and continues peeling an orange.

Sadiq pushes his plate away and directs his attention to Antonio. "As for you, stay clear of the snares. I know you're good at trapping things, but we don't want people to know that and be on the lookout for snares. For you, it might be even more important that we keep things a surprise. Is that clear?"

Antonio nods.

"One last thing," Sadiq says. "When in public, I want you two to be together at all times. Joined at the hip. Inseparable. Magnets. Got that? It's not open for discussion, so don't even try to argue with me. You must present the appearance of total alliance. Even better, _be_ a total alliance. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten."

And with that abrupt change of subject, Sadiq stalks out of the dining room, a smudge of preserves staining his shoulder.

District 10

Toris Laurinaitis

We step into the elevator around ten, joining the kids from District 12. They're sticking close, not out of necessity (it's pretty crowded in the elevator), but out of choice. Meanwhile, Feliks is lounging against the window, huffing in exasperation. He wasn't allowed to change his clothes.

It's a bit of an awkward ride down, since we're stuck in a small box with two people we're supposed to kill in a few days. But it gets worse when we reach the third floor.

The elevator comes to an unexpected stop, and the doors open to reveal the two hulking brutes who are otherwise known as the tributes of District 3. Both are tall, blond, and intimidating, and even Feliks, who is usually too distracted to notice such things, cowers from them as they squeeze into the elevator, leaving their guide behind. I just have to hope we don't stop at floors one or two. They would probably toss us out to make room.

The already tense atmosphere gets worse. The District 12 girl is glowering at the shorter of the two blonds, the one who volunteered for the girl. He's glancing at her every now and then, wearing an expression of mixed exasperation and annoyance. She averts her eyes when he glances at her, but the scowl remains.

It's a relief when the elevator dings and we're on the ground floor. We exit in the reverse order we entered, and I swear I hear the elevator sigh when the weight of eight people disappears from it.

We're the last group to enter to training rooms, earning us the awkward stares that late students receive upon entering a classroom. I hear the District 12 boy murmuring something to the girl, presumably something calming, since she seems peeved.

As we join the circle of tributes, someone pins numbers to our backs, to show, if anyone forgot, which district we are from.

A tall, athletic woman named Atala steps up and begins to explain the training schedule. Experts at each station, any station you want, no combative exercise with other tributes and no deaths, please.

I glance around at the other tributes. Districts 1, 2 and 4 have brought some tough ones. The brother and sister pairs from 1 and 2 look like they could kill in any way they wished. I have my doubts about the girl from District 4, but I have no doubt that her sleepy companion is formidable. Of course, there are also the unusually strong-looking boys from District 3, and there is that tall blond from District 5, as well. I could probably take the girl from District 6 down easily; there's the boy from 8 that I can't kill, no matter what the circumstance; District 9's girl tribute looks like she could outwit me any day, and I'm strangely intimidated by her male partner. I'm not sure what to think of 11's tributes.

All in all, it's a weird assortment. There are more males in the pool than usual; although it's come to be expected of 5, it's rare that 3 or 10 would do the same.

A sharp whistle blows, and everyone scatters in all directions.

District 12

Lovina Vargas

As I head over to the knot-tying station, I watch what our competition is up to. The female from 2 is throwing knives with deadly accuracy, while the pair from 1 are beating up assistants left and right. Many of the tributes are over at the weights, preparing themselves for the harsh conditions we might have to face in the arena. This leaves the knot-tying station conveniently open.

After about an hour, we move on to the camouflage station, where we are joined by District 7. The boy is really good at it, dying his light hair brown and smothering his pale skin to match any background. The girl has a bit more trouble with it, getting impatient at the slightest mistake. I would laugh, but I'm having the same problem.

As the three days of training sweep by, the Gamemakers drop in to observe us. Many times I catch them looking at me intensely, as if looking for something special. I can only hope I don't disappoint them.

We try to steer clear of any stations that are too crowded, preferring to keep to ourselves, but sometimes it's impossible to avoid company. The couple from 7 keep popping up near us, and I hate it; they remind me of Antonio and I, and I can't let myself get sentimental. The pair from 2 keep glaring at us. Actually, it's the girl from 2; her brother seems to have a permanent smile fixed on his face, which only serves to scare me more. I receive mediocre threats from the District 1 girl, and, in contrast, get a little wave from one of the boys from 10.

At lunch, we enter a dining room off the gymnasium and serve ourselves from carts. The Careers always get the most, but there's still plenty of food. The Careers also tend to sit at one table together.

Lunch is one of the best times to observe the emerging social order, and thus the potential alliances. District Four's girl seems a bit out of the loop, as if she's just sitting with the Careers because of her hometown. Most of the tributes eat with their District partner, doing their best not to form friendships.

On the second day, Antonio leans over during training and whispers, "I think we have a shadow."

I throw the spear I'm holding, and, without turning too much, I catch a glimpse of the girl from 11. She's young, and although she's blonde she reminds me of Feliciana. The way she curls her arms about her reminds me of a cat wrapped in its tail.

As I pick up another spear, Antonio whispers, "I think her name is Belle."

Now that I know she's there, it's harder to ignore her. And I find it harder not to care about her.

District 7

Elizaveta Hedervary

I can't tell if Gilbert's putting on a show or if he's sincere. We've both noticed how chummy the two from 12 have been, and when we told Julchen, she said we might do well to imitate them, to throw the competition for a loop. But Gilbert is so much better at feigning interest than I am, and sometimes he continues the act after we've left the other tributes. It's messing with my mind, and I don't like it.

Somehow, Julchen was able to sneak some mail into the Capitol, and during breakfast on the final day of training she slips me a letter. I open it under the table and read it. It's from Roderich.

_Dear Elizaveta,_

_ How are you? I assume you are eating well? You'll need your strength for the Games._

_ But I am writing to you for a different reason. I realized that my actions during the Reaping were curt, to say the least, and I wish to apologize. I really am worried for you, Liz, not because I doubt you can do it, but because I'm afraid there will be someone else who can, too. Be safe, and come home, Liz. I wish it were someone else in your place. _

_ And one more thing. I wouldn't trust anyone in the arena, not even Mr. Beilschmidt. You never know what someone is hiding up their sleeve._

_ With love,_

_ Roderich_

I smile, and tuck the letter into my teal tunic. That day, I'm easily able to hold a conversation with Gilbert.

District 12

Lovina Vargas

That third day, they begin calling us out at lunch for our private session with the Gamemakers. The room empties steadily, until it's just Antonio and I. And then, just me.

Finally, they call my name, and I proceed to the gymnasium. Instantly, I know I'm in trouble. The bastards are restless, having watched twenty-three other performances. They've probably had too much wine, and most of them want more than anything to go home.

I proceed to the archery station. I choose a bow, throw a matching quiver over my shoulder, and take a few practice shots to get used to how the bow handles.

I sever the rope that holds the boxing sandbag in the air. I shoulder-roll and come up with a flawless shot into one of the ceiling lamps. A shower of sparks cascades upon me from the fixture. It's excellent.

Unfortunately, the Gamemakers are more concerned with a newly arrived roast pig.

I'm furious. My life is on the line, and these bastards can't even be bothered to pay a bit of goddamn attention to me. I can feel my face burning, my hands itching. Without thinking, I pull an arrow from my quiver and send it straight into the Gamemakers' seats. The arrow skewers the apple in the dead pig's mouth and sends it into the wall behind. Now I have the attention of those idiots.

I bow and say, "Thank you for your consideration." Then I leave without a dismissal, hanging the bow up as I leave.

District 5

Erik Steillson

When I'm in the elevator, leaving the private session, I can't help but feel like a failure. I didn't really do much, after all, just sort of tied some knots and ate some edible plants. I did tear up one of the dummies with a knife, but that's not much fun to watch.

I ignore Mathias's grin upon entering our suite, and meander to my bed. I don't want to hear how successful my friend's session was. I know for a fact that he impressed the Gamemakers. How could he possibly do anything less?

I know I've failed. I'll get a ridiculously low score and become an easy target right off the bat. I'll probably be dead in a day. And even though I've expected this outcome, I still don't think I can resign myself to it happening.

There's a bookshelf in my room; until now, I've neglected to use it, choosing instead to munch on licorice while I daydream. But now, on a whim, I pick up a book and sit back on my bed, flipping through the pages.

It's a very old book, with lots of pictures and no Capitol propaganda. Most likely because we're meant to die anyway, so brainwashing us is sort of useless. The pictures are so beautiful, filled with colour. There are grassy plains covered with patches of white snow, beautiful birds called puffins flying in an icy sky, 'geysers' creating a misty veil over the land. The scenery is heavenly, and I get this feeling that that is where I belong.

I flip the book over and read the title, something I have previously neglected to do. _Iceland: A Photographic Guide_. Iceland. Even the name sounds beautiful. A world of frost, but in reality a world filled with beauty and colour. It's where I'm meant to be.

I've always felt like I was born in the wrong place. I've wished for colder climates and time to daydream, surrounded not by poverty but by nature. Now I know what my dream is: to sit on the Icelandic ground, a puffin on my head and a bowl of licorice in my lap.

Okay, the puffin is a long stretch, but it really is a beautiful bird. There is nothing like them in District 5. I doubt they live anywhere in Panem.

"Erik! It's time for the scores!"

Mathias bounds into my room and drags me down the hall to the big television that dominates the sitting room. Now is the moment of truth. This is when my embarrassment is made public.

The siblings from 1 and 2 get within the eight-to-ten range, while District 4's tributes get a 7 and a 4. That's unusual, but not unheard of. 3 ranks with the Careers, Mathias gets a 7, and I'm next, with a 5. Not bad, but not good, either. District 7 ranks with Mathias, as does 9 and 11. Everyone else averages a 5.

The boy from District 12 pops up, with an eight. And the girl…oh my gosh. She got an eleven.

Mathias is getting pats on the back from our stylists. He's grinning from ear to ear, proud to have pulled above a five. But he still hugs me and congratulates me on my good work.

District 7

Elizaveta Hedervary

My green satin dress feels cold on my skin. In contrast, Gilbert's navy-and-red jacket and pants seem to be keeping him extra warm. All the tributes are gathered in chairs, waiting on the side of the stage to be called for an interview.

In comparison to my rather billowy dress, the girl from District 1 is wearing what appears to be a cloth tied around her breasts, and the shortest skirt imaginable. She's flaunting it on stage for all it's worth, getting hoots and whistles from the men in the audience.

Her brother wins the hearts of all the women by simply flashing them a smile. He's followed by the girl from 2, whose icy glare gives everyone the feeling that she is not someone to mess with. Perhaps she does better at winning the crowd than her brother; although he seems dangerous, he's simply too creepy.

District 3 does not have a chance of winning on personality. Four's female is a but wimpy, and the boy, Heracles, literally sleeps through the entire interview. Mathias Køhler's bubbly personality is a bonus for him, but his fellow tribute has a cold personality that pushes everyone away. The boy from six is too polite, and his sister is so clearly a weakling that all hopes of sponsors are gone at this point.

Then it's my turn. I'm careful not to trip on my skirts as I take my place in the chair next to Caesar Flickerman.

"Hello, young lady! My, what a pretty dress you have!"

"Thank you," I say.

"Well, Elizaveta, it certainly suits you! Don't you think, everyone?"

The crowd cheers. Caesar is a whiz at working the crowd.

"So, Liz—can I call you Liz?—what has impressed you most about the Capitol?"

I'm nervous in front of all these people. I need to get them to like me, to contribute. "Um…I guess the food? There's so much that's new to me, I don't even know where to start."

"I can imagine! So, what's your favourite food so far?"

"Well, I particularly enjoyed the roasted chicken. There was this spice on it that tasted like heaven…I think it was called poperka?"

The audience laughs, and Caesar chuckles good-naturedly. "Paprika, you mean? Yes, that's one of my personal favourite seasonings! I take it you don't have paprika in District Seven?"

I shake my head. "No, we get by without it."

"Not to change the subject, but we only have so much time. What do you think of your fellow tributes? Any fears or doubts?"

I think for a bit. "I'm a bit afraid I'll eat too much good food. I don't want to slow myself down in the arena! That would be a stupid way to die, don't you think?" I force a giggle, and the audience giggles along with me.

"What about back home, Liz? Anyone waiting for you?"

I smile sadly. "Yes, I have a boyfriend, Roderich. I miss him a lot, but I have to think about surviving now. When I win, that's when I can think about him again." I look to the cameras. "Sorry, Roderich!"

The timer goes off, and my time is up. Caesar hugs me, and I sit down while Gilbert climbs up to take my spot.

"And here we have Gilbert Beilschmidt, also of District 7! And my, what a contrast we have! Pale, light-grayish-white hair…you're almost the complete opposite of Miss Liz!"

Gilbert flashes a winning smile. "And basically everyone back home, too. I don't know if you guys have it, but I'm something called albino. And I have to say, I'm one of the better-looking ones, too!" He laughs, and the audience yells assurance to him. It's clear he's going for the confident, funny angle with this interview. But he could also just be being himself.

Caesar pats Gilbert on the back. "There are certainly some people in the Capitol that look like you, but not naturally! How lucky you are!"

"First time I've heard that," Gilbert says. "Most people just think I'm a freak of nature—which I guess I kind of am. Me and my cousin both. I'm sure you remember Julchen?"

There are cheers from the audience, and Julchen stands up from her seat at the front of the stage and bows elaborately. She's greeted with applause, and Caesar has to work hard to quiet everyone down.

"Back to you now, Gilbert. I'm shocked! You must have a girlfriend back home, though, right?"

Gilbert shakes his head no. There are gasps of surprise from the audience.

"Well, surely you have a special girl in mind!"

Gilbert hesitates, then, dropping his smile, he nods. I swear the audience is holding their breaths.

"Well, once you win the Hunger Games, she'll just have to take you, won't she?"

"Not likely," Gilbert says. "You see, she came here with me."

….

…..

…..

When my mind dials back in and stops coming up with dots, I realize that the cameras are directed at me, and it only confirms what I have begun to think.

Gilbert means me.

Embarrassed, I bury my face in my hands. The crowd is in an uproar, cheers and sentiments and whatever else flying from them. Whatever else happens during the interviews, Gilbert has guaranteed that his will be memorable.

District 12

Lovina Vargas

The girl—Liz—looks distinctly uncomfortable. I almost pity her. But emotions like that cannot be allowed anymore.

I wait as the remaining districts have their interviews, then mount the stage for my turn. My dress feels heavy; whatever China has done to it, it feels like it weighs a hundred pounds.

I'm insanely nervous. I know I'm not very congenial, and I'm not very sexy, not like that whore from District 1. So I have to hope I don't break into a swearfest with Caesar.

He starts out with standard questions, and then broaches the topic of the opening ceremonies. "That was a spectacular show you put on! Do tell me, what did you think of the costume?"

I snort. "You mean after I got over my fear of being roasted alive?"

Big laugh from the audience.

"Yes, start then."

I look straight at China. "I thought it was brilliant. Those flames were a work of art." China is twirling his finger, signaling something. "In fact, I'm wearing them right now. Would you like to see?"

Caesar nods, and the crowd cheers. I spin once in a circle, and flames sputter up from the hem of my dress. The oohs and aahs are encouraging, so I lift my arms and continue spinning, flames leaping up and framing me, until I seem to be made of pure fire. The audience erupts into cheers. When I stop, I have to clutch Caesar's arm.

"Don't stop!"he says.

"I have to! I'm too dizzy!" I say.

Caesar helps me sit back down and continues the interview. "So what about that score! What did you do that impressed the judges so much?"

I glance at the Gamemakers on the balcony. "All I will say is, I think it was a first." I smile a bit smugly.

"You're killing us," Caesar says. "We must have details, must!"

I'm still looking at the balcony. "I think I'm not supposed to say."

"She's not!" cried one of the Gamemakers.

Caesar pouts dramatically, but then he cheers up for the next question. "Let's go back to the reaping, when you heard your sister's name get called. Can you tell us about her?"

The mood has dropped a bit. "Her name is Feliciana. She's only twelve. And I love her more than anything."

"What did she say to you after the reaping?"

Be honest. "She asked me to win." The audience is hanging on my every word, frozen in time. "And I promised I would. I swore it." My voice is hardened now, no trace of warmth.

Caesar goes to squeeze my arm reassuringly, but wisely thinks better of it. "Well, we're out of time. Best of luck to you, Lovina."

I nod and go back to my seat. The interview has reminded me of why I am here: not to gorge myself on fancy foods and play dress-up, but to win. To go home to Feliciana and my mother, victorious and forever ensured that we will have good food. My mission is to survive.

**I don't know if I've said this already, but Belgium is younger than Lovina in this. She's around twelve.**

**Tributes:**

**Lovina Vargas-Female South Italy (District 12)**

**Antonio- Spain (District 12)**

**Alfred Jones-America (District 1)**

**Emily Jones- Female America (District 1)**

**Ivan Braginski- Russia (District 2)**

**Natalia - Belarus (District 2, sister to Ivan)**

**Ludwig- Germany (District 3; friend of Louise)**

**Berwald- Sweden (District 3)**

**Heracles-Greece (District 4)**

**Victoire-Seychelles (District 4)**

**Mathias-Denmark (District 5)**

**Erik-Iceland (District 5)**

**Kiku- Japan (District 6)**

**Sakura- Female Japan (District 6, sister to Kiku)**

**Elizaveta- Hungary (District 7)**

**Gilbert- Prussia (District 7)**

**District 8 Female (Unnamed)**

**Raivas- Latvia (District 8)**

**Lien- Vietnam (District 9)**

**Vash-Switzerland (District 9)**

**Feliks-Poland (District 10)**

**Toris-Lithuania (District 10)**

**Belle-Belgium (District 11, plays Rue)**

**Lars-Netherlands (District 11, Thresh)**

**Mentors:**

**Sadiq-Turkey (plays Haymitch)**

**Julchen- Female Prussia (plays Johanna Mason, and is cousin to Gilbert)**

**Felka- Female Poland (District 10 mentor, Feliks' older sister)**

**Francis-France (District 4, plays Finnick)**

**Yao-China (plays Cinna)**

**Citizens:**

**Tino- Finland (District 3, replaced by Berwald)**

**Louise- Female Germany (District 3, replaced by Ludwig)**

**Lukas-Norway (District 5; brother to Erik)**

**Roderich- Austria (District 7; Elizaveta's boyfriend)**

**Peter-Sealand (District 8, friend of Raivas)**

**Lili-Liechtenstein (District 9, replaced by Vash)**

**Romulus- Ancient Rome (deceased; father of Lovina and Feliciana Vargas)**

**Feliciana- Female Italy (District 12, replaced by Lovina)**

**Alaric- Germania (District 12; friend of Romulus)**

**Extras:**

**Oramela- Stylist for District 4**

**Avox:**

**Meimei- Taiwan (her companion, the boy who was killed in the woods, was Im Yong Soo, or South Korea)**


End file.
